The Search
by MusketeerAdventure
Summary: The search for Athos begins with a sense of foreboding.


The Search

By: MusketeerAdventure

Summary: The search for Athos begins with a sense of foreboding.

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That evening, d'Artagnan had gone to bed with a sense of unease. Not sure where this was coming from, he had lain awake staring at the ceiling in his quarters, determined to find the source.

Though he had been bone weary, sleep escaped him. This sense would not leave him alone. Had something happened during the day that he had missed or perhaps overlooked?

He turned on his side and faced the door. Thinking back on the day, it seemed normal enough. There had been nothing out of the ordinary that he could recall. At least, there had been nothing that should have alarmed him.

He and the three musketeers had returned to the garrison earlier in the evening from palace guard duty. They had been fatigued, but non pulsed. Protecting the King and his party had been unremarkable in its sameness. As per usual the King had regaled his group with stories of his superior prowess, the magnificence of his son, and treated them all to his flirtations with Milady.

His musketeers had made themselves invisible and indispensable in their diligence to his safety. All had gone well. The King was safe in the palace; no doubt sleeping like a babe.

After being relieved of duty, they had made their way home, and eventually sat themselves for dinner. Serge was on perpetual call, and had food waiting. Though they were quiet with each other, they were at ease, and amiable. d'Artagnan was glad to be with his brothers at the end of a long day.

He faced the ceiling again. Yes, dinner had been quiet.

His thoughts at the time had fallen to Constance, and their new found "friendliness". He would take what he could get. Being with her and in her good company meant that much. If she would not have him to love, then he would at least be there as her friend. It pained him to think too hard on it. He loved her more than his own life. He knew he could not live without her.

When he had surfaced from his own musings, he noticed that Aramis gazed off into the distance with a mournful expression. He had seemed – sad – lately; and overly preoccupied. Many of his stories of adventure, or conquests seemed forced and unnatural. His levity seemed to cover something grave; and something on the edge of disaster.

He then looked to Porthos, who had pushed his meal around on his plate, chasing meat from one end to the next. His brow was creased with a frown, as if he was in an internal argument. His shoulders were hunched and his ready smile was missing. When he did smile these days, it was brief, and would not reach his eyes. Thinking about it now, d'Artagnan realized that recently Porthos had been more distant with them, more to himself, closed off and in conflict with the Captain. There was a tenseness there, that everyone noticed, but no one would speak of.

Athos sat across from him with no meal at all. He held only a cup of wine with the bottle nearby. When he had thought to question him, he looked up to see Athos watching him. His features were neutral, but his hand had gripped the cup tightly.

He had smiled at Athos then, wondering about his mood, and in that moment the quietness ended and the three had seemed themselves again.

Porthos downed his meal as if starved; and barked a laughing compliment out to Serge for an excellent meal. He even rubbed his stomach in a playful gesture of satisfaction.

Aramis made some jovial remark about the goings on of the aristocracy, and then a brief missive of a lovely woman he would like to gain comfort with on this evening, that had them all snickering and shaking their heads.

And then, Athos had shielded his expression; loosed his grip on the cup; and downed his drink.

All had seemed as it should. But now he saw. They had distracted him; mislead him into thinking everything was okay. He had taken their bait.

He kicked the covers from his body, and faced the wall.

As the evening had come to an end, Aramis and Porthos had paired up to achieve some mischief. He had watched them walk side by side toward the garrison gate to enter the streets of Paris. They had waved back at him, promising to see him on the morrow.

He had declined their invitation of company, as had Athos, and waved good-night. Finishing the last of his meal, he sat alongside Athos in comfortable silence.

Once again, he caught his friend, looking at him with an unreadable expression, but he had thought nothing of it.

Lately he had gotten better at reading his friend's moods, and tried to help when he could, knowing how they would set upon him without warning and bring him low. However, this evening Athos seemed – he could not tell. This maybe was something new, but he would learn to decipher it.

"Would you like for me to stay and keep you company a little longer?" he had asked yawning a little. Athos seemed to have wanted to say something, but lowered his head instead, "You should rest. I will see you tomorrow."

He had stood then and bid his friend good night, leaving Athos at the table with his wine.

Contemplating now, hours later, d'Artagnan thought maybe this was the moment he missed. Maybe something was wrong after all. Was this why he felt so unsettled?

He flipped to his back and forced his eyes closed. He vowed then to seek out his friends in the morning and find out why everyone was so pensive, and trying to hide it from him. He would not fall for their evasive tactics again.

Lord knows they knew his sorrows and never seemed to tire hearing him speak of them. They listened openly and without judgement, offering him limitless support. He hoped they would let him do the same. If they gave him half the chance, he knew he could help, or would die trying. One day, they would see him as brother, and not "little brother."

Perhaps tomorrow would be that day.

And so – just before the pink of dawn he fell asleep heavily. His last thought was of Athos' unreadable expression and his desire to help.

But when he awoke a few hours later, it was with a strange feeling. Something inside him felt – missing. He sat up quickly and threw his legs over the side of the bed. Looking around his room, everything felt unfamiliar somehow. What sensation was this? He rubbed at his eyes, but this did not rid him of the feeling.

As he stood to his feet, he suddenly felt incredibly dizzy and out of sorts. In that moment, his thoughts fell to Athos. Something wasn't right.

All at once he felt he must rush to see his friends. He didn't understand this.

Something took over then and he hurried through his morning routine. He raced from his room to head for the yard. He could not seem to move fast enough.

As a result, he was the first to breakfast. He made himself sit, and breathe deeply the cool, morning air; trying to bring his heart beat and thoughts under control. He could not explain this sense of urgency he was feeling.

As the sun rose higher, the garrison came to life. Musketeers began making their way down to breakfast, stretching, and milling around. Serge placed a plate of bread, cups and a bottle of wine down in front of him, nodding good morning.

And there was Porthos, who waved to him from across the yard. d'Artagnan let out a sigh of relief. Here was Porthos, everything would be fine. Porthos sat across from him reaching for the bread. d'Artagnan looked stricken to him, "What is it? Are you well?"

"Yes, are you well?" he replied, searching Porthos' face for any clue as to why he had this foreboding sense of loss.

"Nothing a good meal won't take care of", he began to break his bread and pour a cup of wine.

d'Artagnan sat searching the yard, unsure of what he looked for. His meal was all but forgotten.

Then Aramis sauntered over, clapping the table and smiling at them both. As he reached for his bread, he sensed d'Artagnan staring at him. His eyes were wide and uncertain. Trying to lighten his mood, he asked heartily, "How are you this fine morning brothers?"

Porthos frowned seriously, "I believe something concerns d'Artagnan."

d'Artagnan looked Aramis in the eye, "Are you well Aramis?"

Aramis looked away briefly, but answered truthfully, "As you can see, I am very well indeed. A lovely evening with the Lady Marguerite has provided much needed soothing to help begin this day. What troubles you d'Artagnan?"

He pushed to his feet, and searched their faces; they stared back bewildered.

"Something is wrong." He grabbed at his stomach. "I can feel it. I am sick with it." He beseeched them, "Where is Athos this morning?"

Aramis countered, "He will be here soon enough. I sensed a mood with him yesterday."

"Aye", acknowledged Porthos, "As did I."

d'Artagnan moved away from the table. "We must find him, quickly." He began to walk away from them toward the gate.

"d'Artagnan," called Aramis, "It is early yet. Let's give him some time to pull himself together. He will join us."

d'Artagnan continued to move toward the gate. "I will go and bring him then."

He was almost running when he heard Porthos call, "We will go with you."

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As they made their way through the city streets, Aramis and Porthos found themselves hard pressed to keep up with d'Artagnan's pace. They had not seen him quite this agitated before, and spoke silently to each other worried for their young friend.

They reached Athos' lodgings quickly.

Standing before the door, d'Artagnan knocked tentatively; not wishing to wake his friend abruptly if he was still asleep. Porthos and Aramis pressed past him, and banged on the door calling his name.

There was no answer, and putting his ear to the door, Porthos shared, "I don't hear him in there."

He grabbed the door knob and pushed his way in. The three walked in and looked around the small room. All was in its place- the bed unslept in, the chair, in the corner, and the bucket of water, outside the window.

d'Artagnan began to pace, "He has not been here. We must find him. Something has happened."

Porthos grabbed him by the shoulders and held him fast. "Calm yourself. What makes you think something has happened? He was probably at a tavern all night, drank too much, has left for the garrison and is waiting for us now, while we are here looking for him."

d'Artagnan grabbed his forearms and taking a deep breath tried to take Porthos advice, to calm his nerves. He nodded in agreement. "You are probably right," he said hopefully, "Let's go back and check."

So, they left the lodgings and returned to the garrison, only to see their table empty. They looked to each other, and speaking a silent language, split up – searching the stables, the firing range, the sparring field, and each other's rooms.

They met back at the yard, shaking their heads no, and shrugging their shoulders. d'Artagnan spoke up, "Let's check the taverns."

They swiftly left the garrison and began the tedious search and questioning at all of Athos' favorite haunts. There were several, and it took long into the afternoon to search them all. No one they questioned seemed to remember seeing him.

As the day wore on with no sign of Athos, they began to feel more and more anxious. A sense of dread threatened to consume d'Artagnan. He felt it deep down, that if they did not find him soon; he might never see his brother again. He could not live with himself, if the last sight of his brother was of him sitting alone.

He shook his head as if to dislodge such thoughts. This was not like Athos. He had said good night, and promised to see him in the morning. If it was in his power, Athos would be here.

d'Artagnan voiced his thoughts as they searched the last of the taverns, "If not here, then where could he be?"

Aramis thought on this, "The Captain may know where else to look."

So when they reached the garrison, they found the Captain cleaning out the stalls in the stable.

He did not seem terribly concerned about the whereabouts of Athos. What did concern him was d'Artagnan's pacing and obvious agitation and the fact that these three thought he could help them.

"We can't find him anywhere," d'Artagnan reiterated. "He has not been to his rooms. He is missing. Something is wrong. I'm sure of it."

Aramis chimed in, "He wouldn't just leave without telling us."

Treville, tired, sweaty and irritable, heard out their concerns and with some impatience stated," Athos is drunk somewhere, and will return when he is ready. This is not new."

d'Artagnan shook his head, and Porthos threw his hands up in exasperation, "We've looked in all his usual taverns, and no one has seen him."

d'Artagnan's body language screamed with frustration. He looked ready to hit something. Treville, stopped shoveling and really considered them. They were wired with concern. "I am no longer your Captain, just a musketeer doing my duty." He went back to work.

When he looked up from his task, d'Artagnan had moved into his personal space. "We must find him before it is too late." His eyes swam with persuasion; they were earnest and begged him to take charge and help them. He realized he had been put under some sort of spell. How did the musketeers deny him anything?

He handed his shovel over to Porthos, "Well then, as soon as this job gets done, we can go looking."

Porthos passed the shovel off to Aramis, who in turn gave the job over to d'Artagnan who sullenly, but gladly got to work in order to get the job done. If it meant the Captain would help them find Athos, he would do anything.

Some hours later, they found themselves back in Athos' rooms. Letters were located that had been written to the Comte' de la Fere from his tenants, all unopened. There were several months' worth of letters; stacked neatly with the seals unbroken.

Reading them, they found that the tenants had been begging Athos for help. They read of the devastation going on in Pinon. d'Artagnan is taken aback. Why would Athos keep this from them? Why hadn't he helped these people? There must be a good reason, he thinks to himself.

"See, family business, none of our concern," the Captain states.

d'Artagnan will not give up. In his mind, the Captain is their last hope of mounting a full on search. Treville is stunned. d'Artagnan turns his eyes to him, and casts his spell once again. "We have to help him. Now we know where to go."

Treville gives in. He has no more argument; and is pulled into the search. "I go as a fellow musketeer, not as your Captain", he reminds them.

They are bound for Pinon, d'Artagnan the first out the door, luring the rest behind him.

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On the road to Pinon, they ride hard, with d'Artagnan leading the way, and setting the pace as quick. His head is bowed, and he leans over his horse determined to get to their destination before the day ends.

The others know they cannot possibly keep at this speed, and know they will need to stop before night falls.

When Treville calls for a halt, it is with reluctance that d'Artagnan reins in his horse. They begin to ready the camp to rest for the night.

While preparing the fire, d'Artagnan feels a sudden tug beneath his rib cage, and falls to his knees. Aramis is by his side instantly. "What is it?" he exclaims as he helps him to sit facing the flames, looking to his ribs to find injury.

d'Artagnan trembles and stares into nothing. "I don't know," he answers. "I think something is happening to him right now." He tries to get up, as if to leave, but Aramis is stronger and pins him where he sits. "We are not leaving. We are resting here for the night. If he is in as much trouble as you say, we need to be ready to help; and that means rested."

Treville, gazes intently at him across the fire, "Tell me, d'Artagnan."

He knows immediately what Treville asks of him. "When I left him yesterday he was alone. He was pensive; in a mood I couldn't understand. I thought nothing of it. In the night, I began to feel uneasy. Sleep came late. When I woke in the morning, I knew he was missing. Now, I feel a sense of danger. We must hurry."

"Aramis is right. We have to rest. Give the horses a chance to recover. We will be the better for it tomorrow and more able to help."

d'Artagnan could not argue with reason.

As the others rested by the fire, he made his camp near the horses. Unable to sleep, he took care of them earnestly. He brushed them down, checked their hooves, fed them feed, and walked them one by one to drink from the nearby stream.

Still unable to settle, he walked the perimeter of the camp several times over, before sitting on his blanket on alert. "What do you think?" Treville asked the others, truly apprehensive where d'Artagnan was concerned.

"I know what he's feeling," Porthos explained, "He has an awareness of Athos, even this far away."

Aramis nods in agreement, recognizing the truth in Porthos' words. He had the same awareness as it pertained to the man sitting next to him. "All we can do is trust his instincts, and see what tomorrow brings."

The next morning as they awoke from sleep, dawn peeked out from behind fluffy clouds. It would be a good day to ride.

Standing before them as they stretched away sore limbs, was d'Artagnan, holding the reins of all four horses, saddled and ready to start out. "We will eat in the saddle," Treville announced. They mounted and were on their way.

As before, they rode steady and hard, at a full gallop. Suddenly, there ahead of them was Pinon.

The sharp crack of a pistol shot came as a shock, and they quickened their pace even faster. And there was Athos walking toward them with his hands tied in front of him. Village tenants screaming and dust kicked up from riders leaving the area as if running away.

At the sight of Athos, d'Artagnan leaned heavily over his horse's neck, and released the air he had been holding in since this search for his friend had begun back in Paris. The pain under his rib subsided, and the trembling in his hands ceased.

Porthos bounded from his horse in full stride, pulled his knife from his belt, and released Athos from his bonds in one graceful motion.

d'Artagnan vaulted from his own horse, ran to him, placed his hands on his shoulders, and searched his face. "We have found you," he exhaled.

Aramis dismounted as well, reached from his saddle bag, the blue cloak of the musketeer, and held it out to his friend. "And not too much worse for wear, I think."

Athos reached out to retrieve the cloak, but his arms seemed too heavy to bear up, so Aramis unfurled it for him, and placed it gently around his shoulders.

Treville, then stepped to him, "And whatever is going on here, we are ready to help."

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Later as they stood beneath the trees talking, Athos rubbed his writs and asked of d'Artagnan, "How did you know?"

His eyes wet with emotion and his voice cracking, d'Artagnan shrugged his shoulders, and answered, "I just knew."

Athos looked back at him, and thought to himself, what was he to do with him? This boy was beginning to read him too well. One day, he would know the truth of him, and hate him.

As Athos moved away, d'Artagnan watched him closely.

It appeared that Athos did not want their help. He seemed grateful; they had helped to save his life, but needing their help? He could see that his eyes were wild with anger at being here in Pinon.

He watched the stare down between Athos and Porthos with trepidation, but he was more determined than ever now.

Athos took off and rode away from them. He would have followed, but Treville held him still with a hand to his shoulder.

d'Artagnan was disappointed. He had not searched so hard to be turned away, and to see Athos veer away from his responsibilities. He had felt the connection between them, and knew Athos could feel it too.

He would make Athos see that he could help. Like he had made a difference in his life, he could do the same for him. Today he would not be just the little brother. He was brother on equal merit. He would make him see it.

The End.

Thank you all for reading. Also, thank you to all of you who have read, reviewed, and favorited my other stories. I love reading your comments. I like to know what you think!


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